


Expositus

by justanotherStonyfan



Series: Honey Honey [24]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Crying, Exhibitionism, Hand Jobs, Handcuffs, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Power Play, Restraints, Roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-22
Updated: 2019-05-22
Packaged: 2020-02-28 05:56:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18750391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justanotherStonyfan/pseuds/justanotherStonyfan
Summary: "What are you, seventeen?” he says, disinterest coloring his tone from wherever he’s standing.“Twenty-one,” James answers.“Too bad,” Steve says. “That means you’re not protected by juvenile criminal law.”James snorts.“That makes a difference?”“Not to counter-terrorism legislation,” Steve’s voice says easily from somewhere behind him





	Expositus

**Author's Note:**

> @harryjaxob hopefully this is at least a little what you had in mind
> 
> Also, unrelated - although any and all asks are appreciated (I'm incredibly grateful for your interest), please don't message me asking for plot details! I will not be answering!

They’re lying in bed together when Steve speaks, and James has no idea what he’s talking about.

“Hey,” he says. “I wanted to tell you I’m sorry.”

It’s Sunday afternoon, and they’ve made sweet love in the low, late afternoon sun. They see it for longer at the top of the tower than the people down at ground level, and Steve likes, James knows, to lay him out in the golden glow and crisp, fresh sheets, and pleasure and take pleasure the way they both enjoy.

James is lying on top of him, because he can, and because Steve likes that, too, and so Steve’s voice is low and gentle and reverberates inside James’ chest as well as his own. 

They never made it to the conversion. They’ve spent the whole weekend in varying states of lovemaking, although they slowed down considerably after yesterday, and Steve has very obviously not wanted to stop long enough to leave. Neither has James, of course, and he points it out to Steve from time to time just to watch Steve’s reaction - as long as he’s certain James is pleased about it, he’s rarely able to hide the reluctant pride about it. If James says, ‘you’re crazy tonight,’ or ‘what got into you today’ but smiles when he says it, picks his moment and makes sure Steve takes it as the compliment it’s meant as, Steve blushes and laughs and ducks his head.

Humble is the wrong word for Steve. James tries not to think about what the right word might actually be - a lot of the implications are way too sad for a post-coital Sunday afternoon.

“Why are you sorry?” he says, his face mashed against the warm, smooth skin of Steve’s chest. 

With the one hand that’s up by his head, he strokes Steve’s nipple because like, come on, its right there in front of his face.

“Mmm,” Steve says. “Just,” and there’s a pause. 

There’s always a pause when he’s thinking about how to say when he wants to say, moreso when they’re like this, sated and half-asleep. Still, James knows that Steve pauses only to make things easier for James to understand once he does speak, and waits for him to continue.

“I think,” he says very slowly, his hand drawing a long, warm line down James’ spine, “I have a few more issues than I realized.”

“Oh no,” James mumbles, lifts his head enough to kiss the skin he’s lying on. “Turns out I still love you anyway.”

Steve huffs a laugh, small and quiet, and settles his palm about halfway down James’ back as James puts his head down again.

Steve doesn’t say anything for a moment or two, and James frowns. Waits. 

Waits.

“You gonna enlighten me?” he says. 

Steve doesn’t say anything, and James lifts his head to look at him this time.

“Steve?”

“Mmm,” Steve says again, but shakes his head. “I just,” he says. 

James moves on top of him, unfolds himself from his curled-up cuddle, and plants his hands either side of Steve’s torso so he can push himself up and look at Steve.

“What do you think you did?” James asks, and Steve searches James’ face with his gaze, lifts one hand just to touch his cheek.

“I feel like shit about yesterday,” he says, and James frowns at him.

“Why?” he says. “I had a great time!”

Steve shakes his head again, looks at James’ mouth instead of his eyes. 

“ ‘Cause I think I realized somethin’,” he says. “And I don’t know that you’ll like it.”

James worries, of course he does. He always worries. He tries not to - he doubts Steve would have the break-up talk with him literally five minutes after sex, while they’re both still naked and tangled up with each other, and he knows Steve sometimes catastrophizes as effectively as James does himself - but it’s hard not to worry when a guy like Commander Rogers looks this concerned.

“What?” James says, touching Steve’s face and neck with gentle fingers just because he can. “What is it, what’s wrong?”

Steve pulls a face, his mouth twisting.

“I think,” he says, “I…don’t…want.” Wow. Very rarely does Steve talk like pulling teeth. “To _not?”_ he says. “Be in charge?”

James blinks at him for a few seconds. 

“So- Wait,” he says. “So, you’re telling me you’re a top?”

“Uh,” Steve says, clearly trying to stop James getting the wrong idea, “o-only when we’re. Y’know. Playin’. You know?”

James frowns.

“So you’re telling me…you’re a roleplay top?”

“Yeah,” Steve says on a rush of breath. “I-I think so.”

James lifts his head ready to nod, and then pauses, and then nods anyway.

“So you want to be Dr Evil next time?” 

“Or just, you tie me up and have fun ‘cause it’s us.”

“And you want to be Detective Steve and Doctor Rogers and Master of the Hareem and stuff like that?”

“Unless,” Steve says, and James nods.

“Unless we’re doing it as _fun_ fun,” he says, “as us. I can dig that.”

Steve raises an eyebrow.

“You can _dig_ it?”

“Yes, I can,” James grins, and he knows Steve probably won’t get the reference but it amuses him anyway. “So you’d let me tie you up and cuff you to a table and examine you very closely and put you in see-through shirts as long as I called you Steve, huh?”

Steve rolls his eyes in an attempt to cover the sheepishness, lifts one shoulder in a shrug as he looks away.

“I just figure, y’know. Lot of these scenarios ain’t gonna be as fun for me as they might be for you. My havin’ been through some of ‘em.”

James nods.

“Yeah, you kinda took me by surprise with that whole ‘wait’ll my friends get here’ stuff.”

Steve nods slowly.

“Yeah,” he says, and even that sounds like an apology. “Me too,” 

“Oh no,” James says. “Still love you anyway.”

Steve looks rueful, the corner of his mouth twisting up anyway.

“I love you too,” he says softly.

“Mhm,” James answers. “Mister Stone Top.”

“Hey-”

“Sorry! Sorry,” James concedes. _“Commander_ Sto-”

That’s as far as he gets before Steve rolls them over and jabs James in that special spot in his side to make him gasp. But then he does something takes James’ breath away as compensation, and it’s an effective tactic, that’s for sure.

~

After that, just to prove he’s not a stone top, he asks James to give him what he’s been after since yesterday and fuck him into the mattress. James does his best, and Steve certainly doesn’t seem disappointed.

~

The sun’s way, way down by six pm and they’ve finished having their latest round of sex by then - Steve’s busy making spaghetti carbonara while James ‘recovers’ in a nest of pillows and blankets on the couch cushions, which Steve has put on the floor. 

This is, of course, despite James’ insistence that he’s fine, and despite his pointing out that, of the two of them, it’s probably Steve who ought to be on the couch cushions, and James who should be making food.

“You’re the one who did all the work,” James says, “plus, you’re the one who needed aftercare yesterday.”

“You gave me aftercare yesterday,” Steve answers from over by the stove he’s working in slacks and an open shirt because he got semi-dressed just to drive James crazy - when he turns to glance back, he’s black and white, and gold from forehead to navel. “And you did really good about it. I wanna take care of you today.”

“I don’t need aftercare!” James says, chuckling, and Steve shakes his head.

“We had a lot of sex, you need aftercare. Don’t need to be blankets and protein bars, but you need somethin’,” he says, “that’s why you’re getting spaghetti.” He points back at James without looking - uses the wooden spoon he’s stirring with and then turns his head a little to look at the egg and cheese that the movement flung accidentally at the carpet. “Nuts.”

James snickers.

Steve looks at him then.

“Your answer is ‘Yes Chef.’ ”

James laughs.

“You’re like,” James says, “you know what a service top is?”

Steve rolls his eyes.

“I’ve been told,” he says. “Call me old-fashioned but all the labels get a little wearing.”

“Oh yeah?” James says, and Steve nods, goes back to the meal. 

“Mm - demi-bi service-top, supersoldier, Brooklynite, Former Captain, Lead Avenger-”

“Sexy, great in bed-” 

“Hey hey hey!” Steve says, whirling around. “You quit that complimentary shit right now!” James grins. “Anyway, isn’t that ‘We Didn’t Start the Fire?’”

James laughs so hard he thinks he might bust something. 

Steve brings them each a bowl of spaghetti carbonara, and sits down with James. He says grace, and then James is just leaning over to see what the hell Steve’s done to the top of his - oh, pepper, which James doesn’t like so much - when Steve looks at him sharply.

“Eat or I’ll spank you,” he says. “Eat or I’ll feed you? I don’t know. What would a service top say? Eat or I’ll rub your feet and give you a bubble bath.”

“Ooh, a bubble bath?” James says, and he means it as a joke but Steve visibly perks up. “Ha, really?”

Steve narrows his eyes and…not deflates per se.

“Listen, you,” he says, but he doesn’t take it any further, and James prods him in the leg with his toe.

“Hey,” he says, and Steve looks at him. “If you wanted to rub my feet and gimme a bubble bath-”

“Yeah?” Steve says, leaning closer. “Or wash your hair and dry you o-o-off, or shave you and give you a massa-a-a-age or shine your shoes and-”

“You already shine my shoes,” James says. “Are,” and then he cocks his head. “Are you serious about all of this?”

Steve’s a little pink over his cheekbones.

“I mean,” he says. 

“You’re _such_ a service top!” James crows and Steve sucks his teeth. “I knew it! You totally wanna take care of me-”

“This is not news, Honey, you ain’t sayin’ nothin’ new, if it was up to me, you’d do nothin’ and buy nothin’ and live in the lap of luxury from now until yada yada.”

“Your lap of luxury,” James says, giving Steve’s lap a pointed glance.

Steve doesn’t bite - doesn’t look away, doesn’t speak for a long few moments.

“My lap of luxury,” he says. “You work as long as you wanna work. You do what you want and don’t if you don’t, but the second you find yourself doin’ somethin’ you don’t wanna do, you can come to me if you want to. If what you want is to do everything, I’ll stand back. If what you want is to do nothing for yourself, I’ll comb your hair and shave your face, I’ll tie your shoes and pack your bag - hell, I’ll carry you from the bedroom to the living room so your feet don’t have to touch the ground. If that’s what you want.”

If Steve is like this with everyone he loves, James can see how someone might find it stifling.

If they don’t want to try and understand it.

“I wanna live my life,” he says, and Steve nods slowly.

“Then that’s what I want for you too.”

James searches Steve’s face, thinks about the implication of his words and all the things behind them that he isn’t saying. He wants to ask questions he’s pretty sure he knows the answer to, the main one being, ‘she didn’t let you, did she?’ And he doesn’t think for a minute that it’s a dealbreaker. Steve has been very clear almost from he start about dealbreakers, and James doesn’t doubt that something that makes Steve’s eyes sparkle the way this does would have come up sooner if it were more important.

Still, although he’s not sure he can swing it now, he files it away for later. Because this is just about the first thing Steve’s given him that he can run with, the first thing that sounds like an actual answer to the ‘what’s your fantasy?’ question.

James had tons of them, lots of difference scenarios. But he remembers Steve saying, a long time ago now, his fantasies were to be happy. To make love on a Saturday morning or hold hands when it’s cold enough to see your breath and sit together in the park. He was as self-deprecating as usual and called them ‘boring things’ at the time, but James never thought they were boring, _and_ he and Steve have done all of those things.

But, the point is, James knows Steve’s idea of a fun time is a little different, even though he’s perfectly happy to try new things, or James’ things, or random things (or anything once). But, for a guy whose ultimate fantasy is ‘being happy,’ it stands to reason that ‘making-sure-the-people-I-care-about-are-taken-care-of’ is way high up his list. 

Not to mention the fact that this is a dude who grew up with not enough _anything_ , and now has more than enough _everything_. James gets it, that’s for sure.

“Eat your pasta before it’s cold,” Steve says, going back to his own, and James bites back a smile.

“Yes, Commander,” James says, and Steve just says,

“Mh,” and nods without lifting his head.

After a couple of seconds, he huffs.

“I heard that,” he says.

James laughs.

“Eventually,” he answers. 

“Ugh, shut up and _eat your pasta,”_ Steve says.

~

While Steve’s elbow-deep in suds, James wraps the faux-fur blanket around himself (it’s his turn in it today, Steve informed him,) and shuffles over so he can wrap his arms around Steve’s waist and shove his face against Steve’s back.

“Y’okay, honey?” he says, and James gets his arms around Steve’s stomach, hands on bare skin.

“Mhm,” he says. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Steve answers, and he goes back to washing up.

“Want me to dry?” James says, and Steve chuckles. 

“If you want to,” Steve says, and James huffs a laugh.

“Sure, sure,” he says. “And I’ll let you know if I got any tough jar lids I need you to open.”

“You better,” Steve says, and then he draws a big breath that makes James’ arms expand with it, that bends James’ body backwards with it. “Listen, I’ve been thinkin,’” and James nods.

“A dangerous pastime,” he says.

“Don’t you quote Disney to me, kiddo, I ain’t as uninformed as I sound.”

He reaches out for a dishtowel, dries his hands - James sees him grab it out of the corner of his eye and feels the muscles move in his back (yum) as he does.

“Yesterday didn’t go so well,” he says, and then he moves. 

James lets go enough to see where he’s going, but he’s not going anywhere - he just turns around in James’ arms and pulls James in again, so James’ head is pressed to Steve’s chest instead.

“Eh,” James says. “Could’a been worse.”

“Yeah, but I ruined your thing,” Steve says.

James lifts his head, tsks, 

“You didn’t _ruin_ anything!” he says, but Steve holds up a hand in concession. “I enjoyed the whole thing!”

“Okay, I’m sorry,” he says. “I just mean, it didn’t go the way we wanted. But I thought maybe I could try something else with you, like the other way around.”

James searches his face, cocks his head.

 _“You_ tie _me_ up?” he says, and Steve tilts his head left and right.

“Yeah. I was thinkin’ that other one you got,” he says. “About that undercover kid.”

James feels his eyebrows go up, feels himself smile.

“The one where you can’t resist me?”

Steve rolls his eyes.

“No, the one where I can’t resist you is every day of my life - I mean the one where _The Commander_ can’t resist you. Or I could be Detective Steve, whaddya think? Any preferences?”

“Oooh, FBI Agent Steve!”

Steve shrugs.

“Technically I’m a SHIELD Agent? Ish? I think?”

James laughs.

“You _think_?”

“You’re lookin’ at a guy they invented a rank for,” he says. “Y’oughta show a little more respect, I could have you killed.”

“Mmm, snuggled to death,” James says.

 _“Snuggled to death,”_ Steve agrees, squeezing James just enough that he’s not sure he could get away if he wanted to, which he doesn’t. “So Agent Rogers,” he says and then makes a face, “that’s the _worst,_ James, I’m not being _Agent Rogers_.”

“But is Detective Rogers any better?” James asks. “Really?”

“Commander,” Steve says, “for goodness sake, just call me Commander.”

James grins.

“Yeah,” he says. “I can do that.”

“Yeah, ‘cause that’s what I am,” Steve says. “And then you’re the boy genius, because you’re the boy genius.”

“And so what?” James says. “You’ve pulled me in because I’ve been caught hacking government files?” 

“Sure,” Steve says. “Why not?”

~

Steve is leaning with his head on one hand, which is propped up on the table in front of him, and he’s smiling like he can’t believe his luck while James rambles.

“…because it’s like. Like I would _never_. Like, oh my god, I would never. You know?”

“I know,” Steve says, clearly amused. “It’s not like you want me to strip you naked in the middle of central park.”

“Right!” James says, pointing at him, hitching the blanket up when it slips, which is the most ridiculous thing in the world because it’s just him and Steve. “It’s just like. Like, like at yours, at, in Brooklyn,” he says. “Like, your balcony. Right?”

“Yeah?” Steve says, smiling just as widely.

“Right well, like that. Like if anybody was downstairs, they’d hear us. Probably. And when you shout loud enough there, you fill the place, and like. I like that. Part. You know?”

“Ahuh?”

“Yeah,” James nods. “Or, uh, like, okay so, when you leave the bedroom door open. Or When we fuck in here, you know? The space is so- I’m, I _was_ used to a little room. And beds! Like or places where you could hide if you needed to, you know?”

“Right,” Steve nods. “Pull the covers up, duck down behind a couch. Can’t do it if I got you over the breakfast island, right? Feel a little exposed?”

“Yeah!” James says. “Yeah, right! Right? Like nobody’s gonna walk in and nobody’s gonna see me ‘cept you, but I’m like…totally naked or I’m two inches away from where somebody could see me or anybody could hear me. You know?”

Steve nods, takes his hand down.

“Safety,” he says. “Whole idea behind roleplay, right? You play the game but you can’t really get hurt.”

“Yeah,” James says.

“Anybody could walk in! Anybody could see you! Anybody could be watching! But nobody will and nobody can and nobody is. Right?”

James nods.

“Just me,” Steve says. 

“You’re plenty enough for me,” James answers. 

Steve smiles, glances around the living room.

“Okay, well,” he sighs. “I got a few ideas. How ‘bout I take you through ‘em and that way you know what’s goin’ on, you can tell me what you like and don’t like. Yeah?”

James nods some more.

“Yeah!” he says, and Steve smiles. 

“First,” he says, “I thought interrogation scenario, I show up and try to take you in. Put your shoes on if you want to run and then you won’t hurt your feet when I stop you.”

James feels his eyebrows raise. 

“Run,” he says. “Right.”

“Up to you,” Steve says, with a wave of his hand. “Now I can get the cuffs but I can’t cuff you to the table, so I’d just cuff you. Right? And then I’ll sit you down blah blah interrogation, I’ve got ideas in mind but we’ll play the dialog by ear, but for the _scenery,_ ” and then he stands.

He goes over to the kitchen drawer next to the cutlery drawer - the one that’s full of bits and pieces, because even Steve Rogers has a random objects drawer - and pulls it open, and then he takes something out and closes the drawer.

When he comes back, he’s got two little things in his hand that look kind of like erasers from the end of a pencil, and he holds them out to James.

James takes one and looks at it, and Steve does something to the other one with his fingers. There’s a line around its middle, like an equator and, suddenly, Steve’s got a little red light in his palm.

“See?” he says. “Magnets. Wanda got ‘em for me, I usually take ‘em on night missions when we might need markers.”

“What _are_ these?” James says. “They’re just fridge magnets?”

“Yep,” Steve nods. “Just fridge magnets. But I can do this!” 

And then he goes over to the corner window, reaches up and _clicks_ one into the corner of the….like nearly the ceiling?

“Ta daa!” he says. “Surveillance!”

James blinks, and then smiles.

“Hey, neat,” he says.

“Yep,” Steve answers. “It’ll look way better once all these lights are out. And, _and_ ,” and then he pulls something from his pocket. 

It’s a small piece of plastic, a little oddly-shaped lump. And it doesn’t make any sense to James until Steve pushes it into his ear and turns his head so James can see.

“Earpiece!” he says. “No batteries, so it can’t turn on. But y’know. The magic of special effects, et cetera.”

James cocks his head and smiles, glances at the little red light on the wall.

“And you’re gonna interrogate me?” he says.

“I’m gonna come get you,” Steve answers. “If you weren’t workin’ tomorrow, I’d tell you to go about your day and then surprise you but we can do that some other time if you like this.”

James does like that idea, at least - the thought of being halfway through making lunch only to be accosted is hotter than it ought to be.

“Not sure how nice I’m gonna be,” he says. “Maybe I’ll tell you I got a warrant, maybe I won’t. Any preferences? Safewords apply, obviously-”

James shakes his head.

“Nope!” he says, grinning. 

Steve pauses, but nods himself a moment later, satisfied.

“Alright,” he says. “And then I thought maybe I’ve picked you up ‘cause…we caught you hackin’ files? You can try and seduce me or I can try and seduce you or whatever - whose side you’re on is up to you.”

“I’m complicated!” James says, beaming. “I’m want to cooperate but I can’t, you don’t know that and I can’t tell you.”

Steve thinks about that for a moment or two.

“Okay,” he says, squinting at the ceiling. “I think I can work with that. And you know the window thing?” 

James thinks for a second.

“Yesterday?” he says.

“Yeah,” Steve nods. “I don’t got a two-way mirror but I do got a window that turns opaque. Jarvis, can you blackout windows four through seven and take all the lights down except the one over the table?”

 _“Of course, Sir,”_ Jarvis answers, and does, turns the windows black and all the lights out except the one above the table they sit at. The result is effective - it means that the only light comes from above the two of them, making Steve not only very bright in the middle of all the darkness, but hiding his eyes from James in the twin pools of shadow that have taken over his eye sockets instead. 

Steve turns his head, points at the window and-

Oh wow.

“Okay?” Steve says. 

Some of the windows opposite are still transparent, and show the sparkling rows and columns of the city beyond. But some of the windows - four through seven, apparently - are opaque. And they serve as a pretty good mirror, all things considered. 

James holds his hand up and can count his fingers - changes his expression and can see as much.

“Yeah?” Steve says, and James nods.

“Yeah!” he says. “Yeah, this, yeah! Okay!”

Steve smiles, laughs a little.

“Alright,” he says. “Now, I promise. You are safe now, and you will be safe throughout. If I have a weapon, it’ll be fake. If I’m speaking to colleagues, I will be acting. You will not, at any point, be in any physical danger whatsoever, but you can safeword out whenever you need to, if you need to. Do you wanna try this tonight?”

“Oh my god,” James says, and he pushes up from his seat, mainly leaves the blanket behind, “yes.”

Steve stands up to meet him halfway.

“What do I do now?” James says, and Steve holds up his hands.

“I’ve got clothes for you,” he says. “How’d you want me?”

James scrapes his teeth over his lower lip.

“I bet Agent Rogers is pretty cute.”

Steve rolls his eyes as he smiles, shakes his head.

“Go on,” he says. “Go get dressed in the blue-bag stuff on the bed. Then come back and make a coffee, grab a snack. I’ll get busy with the little stuff. Okay?”

James nods, gets up, and shuffles out of the living room.

~

James puts on things that look like his work clothes, out of the blue bag. There’s a black bag too, and a red one, but he hasn’t been told to look in those, so he doesn’t. 

It makes sense, he figures he’d be wearing his work clothes. 

He goes for a snack because he’ll probably need the energy - grabs a cereal bar and a Gatorade, and then pauses.

He put on his shoes, because he’s thinking about feeling adventurous - he still might not run, but he might. He’s nervous about it - not in a bad way but…

It’s anticipation, he supposes. His bones feel shivery and his lungs feel too big, like he could breathe in forever. The back of his head aches from smiling so broadly and his hands are shaky.

He wonders what it is Steve will need to do to prepare, and he’s thinking about having a cookie alongside the bar when the hair stands up on the back of his neck. 

He freezes, and turns instinctively.

Steve is predictably not there. Steve isn’t anywhere in the room, in fact, James looks right, left, cranes his neck to see down the hallway. He’s by himself. Steve’s probably doing something in the bedroom.

He turns back to the kitchen counter. 

It happens again - he thinks maybe he heard something, and turns to look. But he didn’t - he’s making himself jittery, working himself up, which is probably part of Steve’s plan, too.

He turns just a little more to check. Then he turns the other way. The room’s definitely empty. 

He looks back at his Gatorade, considering whether he wants to drink liquid before or after whatever Steve’s going to do given that he doesn’t know how long it’s going to take. 

And that’s when he _knows_.

“You’re…” James swallows hard - if this were serious, he’d be _screwed._ “You’ve been right behind me the whole time, haven’t you?”

James doesn’t even get the chance to _try_ and run. One moment he’s staring at the fixtures straight in front of him, the next everything is dark and his hands are behind him, wrists cinched by cold metal, and then, _then_ his feet are leaving the ground, heart in his mouth. It feels almost like he’s been punched in the stomach, and then everything swings around him - he doesn’t know _where_ he is, though he’s definitely moving, when his brain finally catches up and not only registers that he’s been slung over Steve’s shoulder with a bag over his head, but also that Steve actually answered him before he blinded him, with a painfully smug,

“Yep.”

Also he realizes that he made a really ridiculous noise when Steve grabbed him.

James laughs - hears it ring in his own ears, he’s not quite hysterical but it’s that sort of noise. Panicked, breathless. Something closes around his ankle, and he jumps, twists, before he realizes it’s Steve’s hand. Steve is taking James’ shoes off. Which makes sense in terms of the scene but also serves as an unspoken agreement - shoes are for running. No shoes mean that Steve’s ideas do not involve an escape attempt.

“What the hell is this?” James says, a little reedily, trying to play his part. “Who are you, where are you taking me?”

Steve doesn’t tell him. Steve doesn’t say _anything_

“Hey!” he says. “You can’t do this to me, I’m an American!” 

If Steve gets the reference, he doesn’t rise to it.

“I want a lawyer!” James says. “I know my rights!”

Then James’ stomach drops. Like, literally. Are they in an elevator?! Stark Tower’s elevators are super dampened so you can barely tell you’re moving in one when you’re moving in one, but that’s what it felt like - Steve wouldn’t take him somewhere else, would he?

“Uh,” James says. 

There’s cold air in James’ face - there’s _no way_ this is happening, right? Steve must be doing something but what the fuck is happening?

After the cold air, he’s dumped in a chair that feels like leather - smells like leather, that’s for sure - and then there’s -

There’s a car door and the sharp puff of air that goes with it? An engine turns over? What the _fuck_ -

“Steve?” he says.

“Yeah?” Steve answers, not from where James is expecting a driver. 

He…feels the vehicle he’s in pull out, like, actually drive away, and then there’s motion. Traffic, he hears it.

“Definitely Steve?” James says.

“Definitely me,” Steve answers, “you want the blindfold off?” and James says,

“No, what’s my safeword?”

“Your safeword is ‘Eggs Benedict.’ My favorite guilty pleasure is a chai latte from TBC. Do you want to stop?”

James wets his lips under the bag over his head.

“I’m safe,” he says. “This is a game.”

“I promise.”

James nods slowly, then a little faster.

“Okay,” he says, “Okay, Charlie.”

And Steve falls silent again. 

When they come to a stop, James has about three seconds to realize it before the door opens and he’s being hauled out and slung over Steve’s shoulder again.

Cold air turns to warm air and then, then they walk for what seems like forever, doors opening and closing around in front and behind them, and then, very very quietly, Steve says,

“Feet.”

James isn’t sure what he means until Steve leans forward, and so he sort of wiggles his feet until he feels carpet. 

Then Steve’s gone, and James’ front half is cold from the lack of the immense level of bodyheat Steve generates. And _then_ Steve knocks him over, at the same time as he says,

“On your knees.”

Once James is kneeling on a cushioned surface, he registers that Steve kicked him in the back of his knees. Actually, James is pretty sure he karate-chopped him in the back of his knees with the side of his hand. Either way, suddenly James’ legs are no longer under him and he’s on his knees on something like a couch cushion.

“Barnes, James Buchanan.”

“How do you know my-”

“No, I have him.” Ha, oh shit, Steve wasn’t talking to him. James frowns inside the bag, tries not to be too nervous - he has no idea where Steve’s taken him but it must be somewhere safe, it must be. “Tch,” Steve’s saying, “rudimentary at best, he didn’t even know I was in the apartment.”

“Hey!” James says, and between James’ shoulderblades, Steve presses-

Holy-

Fuck, is that, that can’t be a gun? That _can’t_ be a gun. Fuck, it _feels_ like a gun - James isn’t even breathing at this point.

“It’s a stapler, honey, breathe,” Steve says very quietly.

James nods quickly.

“Charlie,” he says, because he knew, but it’s nice to know, you know?

“No, he’s secure,” Steve says then, in his Other Voice. “Copy. I don’t think he’ll be much trouble.”

The ‘gun’ presses tighter against his spine - James would have his hands up if they’re free, doesn’t dare do anything while they’re not. But he knows he's safe. Steve would never hurt him.

“No, I got the file, I’ll get it out of him,” Steve says, and then huffs a laugh. “He can try it,” he says. “I’ve got plenty of time. Keep me updated.”

And then Steve moves. He walks around James to stand in front of him.

“You’re gonna stay nice and still,” he says, “and you’re not going to cause me any trouble, because I guarantee I have a lot more at my disposal than you do, do I make myself clear?”

James doesn’t say anything, unsure. The inside of the bag smells nice. Like Steve’s cologne. It’s a sweater - right.

“I’m going to assume you’re complying,” Steve tells him, “because your file has you down as intelligent, and I’m sure you can figure out the consequences if you don’t.”

James bites his lip, knowing Steve can’t see it, and then jumps when there are hands on him. He’s being _frisked_ is what it is, Steve’s patting him down for weapons, and it’s weirdly perfunctory. Even though Steve’s spent hours mapping him out, he doesn’t linger with this. Brisk, thorough, impersonal.

“Hiding anything any place I should know about?” he says, and James’ skin warms. 

“When would I have the time?” he says, a little too squeaky to be appropriately outraged. “You didn’t even gimme chance to yell!”

There is a very long pause. 

Then Steve’s undoing his belt, and James is confused but freezes - that’s-- he’s-- it’s a game, he’s not worried, but undressing him is a whole different kettle of-

Oh.

Steve’s just confiscated his belt, that makes sense. 

“Up,” he says, very quietly, and then his hands are either side of James’ torso, at his underarms.

James yelps as Steve essentially lifts him straight from the floor onto his feet, and then he’s being marched forward - almost too quickly for his legs to manage and,

“Sit.”

Deposited into a chair with Steve’s hands on his arms pushing him down.

It feels like a wrench but, as James tries to correct the movement, he finds that Steve’s grip isn’t nearly as tight as it seemed, he’s not twisted as much as he thought he would be. He leans forward once he’s down so that he’s not back against his hands. 

Then he’s blind _again_ , head going back as the bag is pulled off, leaving him blinking in the light. He has to squint for a long few seconds, and he…

He’s at the table.

He’s at the table in Steve’s living room in his apartment in the tower. He would have put money on them being at least on a different floor by now, potentially in a different building - how the hell did he get back in the living room in the tower? Where the fuck were they walking? The whole place is dark except for the light above him, and he’s at the table but the table is _way_ closer to the blacked out window than it was this afternoon. There’s barely six feet on the other side, and he can see himself clearly.

“How?” he actually says out loud.

“SFX,” Steve answers in a voice that sounds like the voice he uses when they talk about dinner. And then, in the voice James has heard on the news: “What are you, seventeen?” he says, disinterest coloring his tone from wherever he’s standing.

“Twenty-one,” James answers.

“Too bad,” Steve says. “That means you’re not protected by juvenile criminal law.”

James snorts.

“That makes a difference?”

“Not to counter-terrorism legislation,” Steve’s voice says easily from somewhere behind him - wherever Steve is he’s beyond the reach of the lights so James can’t see his reflection, probably mainly due to the fact that the light is so bright James can see very little besides himself and the table anyway, let alone bounced back from like….quadruple-glazed bulletproof skyscraper glass plus display elements and opacity capacitors - but Steve’s words are a threat that works on James even though he knows they’re only playing.

Steve means _’we’re not only going to treat you like an adult, but we’re going to treat you like one who doesn’t get rights_.’ James feels a little uneasy in the face of that. Inside the game, of course, but wow. Steve really knows how to sound threatening.

“I’m going to make this easy,” Steve says, and then, like leaping in from a different dimension, he walks into view and _holy shit_. 

Steve’s in black pants, black shoes, a loosened black tie with a white shirt that’s open at the collar and rolled up at the sleeves ( _yaaas_ ), and James is dead:

Steve has, for some reason, a black leather shoulder holster, like detectives from 90s TV shows that James’ dad used to watch with _his_ father. It’s empty, because of course it would be, but it frames his torso in a way that’s nothing short of mouth-watering. Then again, so do most things.

“I’m pretty sure you’re making it hard,” James retorts, before he remembers the scenario they’re supposed to be in.

And it kind of works, he is supposed to be seducing Steve at some point. Except that he says it just as Steve’s slapping a manila folder full of papers down on the table between them, and Steve goes stock still instantly and looks at James like he’s literally never been more displeased with anything in his life. He has a paper cup of (presumably) coffee in his hand.

He looks pissed, that’s for sure, and impatient. Most importantly, he looks like James is wasting his time, and James is kind of glad he’s seen this look on Steve because he’s literally never going to worry that Steve’s just-putting-up-with-him again. Steve’s _never_ looked at James like this. In fact, James has never seen him look at _anyone_ with this much distaste.

“Thirsty?” he says.

“A little,” James answers, not that he’ll be able to drink with his hands cuffed behind him.

“Huh,” Steve says, and then takes a sip from his coffee before he puts it down on the table - okay, so Agent Steve’s an dick.

The cup wobbles (empty).

“We can do this two ways,” Steve says, and he pulls out the chair across from James, turns it around to straddle it.

This works as a pretty good cop fantasy too!

“You can give me the information I want, or I can _extract_ it,” and he pronounces the consonants so clearly in the word ‘extract’ that James has the unpleasant sensation of being able to picture it, like a tooth being pulled.

He’s a little hard to look at, honestly - his cheekbones are so sharp that dark shadow lances down from them, much like the shadow that his eyes are in, and his shirt is so clean and crisp that he’s a beacon in the darkness, almost shining with his own light against the blackness.

James squints at him while his eyes adjust. When he blinks, there’s a purple and yellow Steve-shaped after image behind his eyelids, and he tries to think of the scene instead of the way Steve looks like some kind of supernatural entity.

The point here is that it’s best for both of them if James gives him what he wants. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, and Steve stares at him. 

“Am I speaking English?” he says, plump lower lip casting shadows over his chin as he speaks, his face a ‘V’ of bright skin like he’s sinking backwards into molasses. “You heard me tell you there were two ways to do this and your file tells me you’re intelligent. I’d call you _too_ smart.” 

He flips open the manila folder. 

All the pages are blank papers.

“Says here,” he says, pointing. Pointing at a blank page. “First in your college class.” He moves the page, sets it on the table. “Top of your graduating high school class,” he does the same. “In fact,” and he disseminates the first five or six leaves of blank paper across the table, “you’ve been top of everything since kindergarten-”

“Wouldn’t mind being bottom to you,” James says, and Steve doesn’t even break stride, doesn’t lift his head.

“-and your software development accolades are, quite frankly, stellar, so I know you’re not stupid enough to expect me to fall for the playing-dumb routine.”

“Can I get you to fall for something else?” James says.

“Is this what you want to be?” Steve says to the table top. “Really?”

“What do you want me to be?” James says, aiming for coy.

“Cooperative,” Steve answers, and looks at him then instead.

With the manila folder open, the overhead light bounces back off the white pages and illuminates him from the underneath so that his skin glows like he’s opened buried treasure, and the reflection of the papers are a bright point in the lenses of his eyes.

“I’m going to ask you a question, and you better think real careful ‘bout your answer ‘fore you give it, you understand me?”

“I think I can follow,” James says. 

Steve produces James’ phone, and his own laptop - the laptop they share - plus one of the tablet computers. They’re all off, and closed and he puts them all on the table.

“These belong to you,” he says, not a question, and James sits back in the chair.

“Yeah,” he says. “What the hell are you doin’ with ‘em?”

“At thirteen-forty-seven this afternoon, our defensive infrastructures were infiltrated by a malware signature that our security have traced back to this IP address.” He slides another blank piece of paper towards James. “Does this look familiar to you?”

“No,” James says, without looking. “Should it?”

“How about this mac number?” Steve answers, and James knows it’s blank but he looks down anyway.

It’s so weird - Steve’s so good at this that James genuinely expects to see his mac number on the paper.

“No,” James says.

“If only you were as good at lying as you think you are at flirting,” Steve says. And then he sighs hard through his nose and leans back on his chair. “Hold on a sec.”

~

James looks at him, and Steve scrapes his teeth over his lip.

This is…not as easy as he thought it’d be. It’s a little _too_ easy to turn on the Authoritarian that lives in his head, but he’s aware that, going this route? Yeah, they’re never going to get anywhere. Steve has learned through experience - and then through official training - to be a brick fucking wall. When people say “I’ve got all the time in the world,” they have nothing on Steve who, when faced with supervillains across the table, can outlast them at everything. Eating, drinking, sleeping - you name it, Steve is never going to crack first.

But this is James’ fantasy, and Steve is not playing Steve. Steve is playing corrupted-blowhard-Steve, and it’s harder than he realized to get in character.

Menacing is easy, but relaxing is proving difficult and flirting is downright impossible at the moment.

He takes a second to breathe, tries to shift things around in his head. If he thinks like himself, he’s going to fail spectacularly. He’ll get semi-pissed and start on the subtle threats and looming and, while James has proven to be _very_ into the looming, Steve is pretty sure too many dark-hole-to-rot-in threats will just kill the mood. 

So what he’s got to do now is…

Well, to start with, he has to remember that he’s a crooked cop. Agent. He’s- Right, he’s not on the straight an narrow. He’s looking for an opportunity. He wants James (that part’s easy) but he got to wait for James to make the move and has to show interest when he does, which…

He sighs through his nose.

All he’s got to do is be menacing, and receptive. He can do that. Right? It is _James_ , after all.

James who sits squinting in the light that’s directed just a little more at him than at Steve, whose hands rest on the tabletop, who looks small and vulnerable in the isolated light Steve’s put him under.

“Okay, sorry.” He clears his throat, starts this whole bit over. “If only you were as good at lying as you think you are at flirting. This is your mac number, these are your devices, that’s your IP address. We traced it through your encrypted VPN and your encrypted satellite uplink, through the six different encrypted waypoints it was patched through.”

James raises an eyebrow.

“This is all very interesting,” James says. “Do you have any idea what all of that means, or have you got a nerd behind that glass feeding you lines?”

Steve considers keeping his face stony, ignoring James’ dig, but that’s what he’d do in this situation. Not the man James is talking to.

“Who are you working for?” he says, and he leans forward, makes it a growl, clenches his jaw a little.

James scoffs.

“I’m not working for anyone!” he says. “Well, I mean, I do html on my boss’ website but he’s probably not who you’re looking for.”

“Your boss is nothing,” Steve says, and he bites the words out this time, leans forward and slaps his hand down on the tabletop. “You expect me to believe someone known for his work in reconstructive pathways and influx/outflux matrices is rendering colored text for some bozo runnin’ office paper, and happy enough about it that all those little side-projects don’t get a look-in?”

“I don’t have any side projects.”

 _Steve_ scoffs this time, feigns the impatience he’d usually hide.

“That’s not what your record says.”

“What record?” James answers, and Steve shakes his head minutely.

“That’s the fun part about counter-terrorism,” Steve answers, and he puts a sneer in for good measure. “Your juvie-record’s up for grabs if I say so.”

He shoves another piece of blank paper forwards and, as he’s done so far, James reacts appropriately to the imaginary evidence and clenches his jaw.

“I don’t do that any more,” James says, so Steve shows him the previous piece of paper again.

“Got any roomies, kid?” he says - its not hard to keep track of which is which when you have a photographic memory. “’Cause if you’re still payin’ nineteen hundred a month on that little one-bedroom two-window place up in Flatbush all by yourself, you better have a damn good explanation for how you’re makin’ it on the two-k a month your boss gives you.”

“Rent boy,” James answers, bobbing his eyebrows, so Steve does the one thing he’d literally never do in the face of that, and does his best to deliberately look like he’s imagining what that looks like.

He looks James over, nice and slow, wets his lower lip.

“And the Mac address?”

James pretends he doesn’t have an answer for that one. He’s keeping up well - as far as the scene is concerned, it’s his laptop and it’s right there in front of him.

“If somebody hacked into your systems and messed shit up for you,” he says, and he looks convincingly rattled, “why the hell can’t they do the same thing to me? How in hell do you know it was me and not some… I don’t know, some asshole in the middle of the desert or something? My work’s available, I published what I worked on at college - anyone could pick it up. It’s even got my name on it - easiest way to get the focus on someone else - frame me while they get away with it!”

Steve doesn’t think that’s possible but he’s never entirely sure when it comes to this kind of thing - he mostly has a handle on it, but the encryption still throws him for a loop sometimes. Coding? No problem. Wiring? Sure. Just how accurate technology is at throwing off the authorities? Ehh, jury’s still out.

“Frame you,” he says instead, allowing the disbelief to color his tone - less a question and more an imitation.

Because he’s not sure but, if James is using it as an excuse in their little scenario, presumably James is expecting Steve to call him on it as bullshit.

“If it goes through six different waypoints, a VPN and a goddamn satellite uplink, all of which are encrypted, how the hell do you know it came from where it looks like it came from? Why don’t you run your databases and try and find the guy instead of comin’ after me?”

Steve slides the laptop forward, turns it around, opens it.

He doesn’t even need to prompt James. He sees James’ eyes track everything he’s meant to see, sees James figure out everything Steve’s trying to imply. James is as paranoid about his tech as Steve. At his place in Brooklyn, his computer and his laptop have covers and stickers and all sorts of things, and Steve’s do too, but this?

Steve’s laptop, the laptop he’s been ‘sharing’ with James until James realizes Steve has a completely different laptop and no need for a second, has a little webcam built in at the top. Steve has taken the cover off it, so that there’s no cover there. 

“We did,” he says.

This time the piece of paper is small and square.

“Mmm,” Steve says, in a way that he hopes is lascivious enough to catch James’ attention. “You got a twin?” 

James looks down at the paper, leans down and looks.

There’s nothing on it, but Steve can picture James from the point of view of the built-in webcam. Small, grainy, desaturated, low-res. Not _bad_ , because it’s Stark Tech, but how good is a reverse-encrypted webcam image in a fantasy really going to be?

“If we can track you through six different waypoints, a VPN and a goddamn satellite uplink, all of which are encrypted,” Steve says, using James’ words against him because it’s a dick move, “how difficult do you think it was to trip your webcam circuit without tripping the indicator LED?”

“Man, fantasy James is screwed,” James mutters.

Steve doesn’t smile but it’s a close thing.

“This is you, is it not?” he says instead, and James gets back into his character.

“That’s a photo of me at my computer,” James says. “I have a million of those on chatroom servers with my friends.”

“Mhm,” Steve says. “But not this one.” He takes the ‘photo’ back, holds it up in front of him as though comparing it to James. _“This one_ was taken by my buddy Clint down in cyber, at thirteen-forty-seven this afternoon. Quite a coincidence, wouldn’t you say?”

James says nothing.

“You know what else he managed to get a shot of?”

“Whichever porno he had open in the other tab,” James says, and Steve’s aware of the opportunity to make some lewd joke about James’ webcam but he can’t think of an actual shot fast enough to fire back in their current conversation - he’ll use it later, though. “None of this proves anything, you ever heard of photoshop?” James continues. “You’re telling me you have pictures of me, presumably you think you have a picture of my desktop. I’m tellin’ you, that ain’t right.”

“I’m not asking you for verification,” Steve says, “I’m telling you we’ve got you. And I’m going to ask you one more time, who are you working for?”

“You ever hear of the fifth amendment?” James says, and his voice comes out shaky. 

“You ever hear of Gitmo?” Steve answers.

“They closed that in ‘23, old man,” which Steve knows because his voice was one of the loudest calling for it, but James shivers anyway, Steve sees him.

It’s a threat people in his generation grew up with, Steve knows. The world’s a better place without it.

“That they did,” Steve says, and then, mind racing momentarily, “you ever hear of Black Island?” James narrows his eyes but doesn’t speak and Steve smirks, nasty. “Can’t close what they don’t know about.”

James sucks his teeth.

“I want a lawyer.”

“I don’t recall askin’,” Steve answers.

James leans forward as best he can without overbalancing.

“I want a lawyer, I know my rights. I’m going to take my right to stay silent and I want my phonecall and I want a lawyer.”

Steve almost laughs, is almost derogatory _but_ , if he’s unpleasant, why would James want to sleep with him. Instead, he shakes his head, and then looks James up and down again, takes a deep breath as he squares his shoulders.

“You don’t get it, kid,” he says, holding James’ gaze. “This ain’t the NYPD. You ain’t downtown for twenty-four hours - you were caught hacking into the most highly-classified innermost servers of one of this country’s highest, most prominent, intelligence agencies. You are _mine_ now. Only way outta this for you’s givin’ me what I want.”

James quirks an eyebrow.

“There’s a lot I’d give you if I get the chance,” he tries.

“As though you’d be the one givin’,” Steve answers, mirroring James with his own raised eyebrow. 

But he’s doing it on purpose, it’s an indicator, it’s a piece of dialog that gives James information. Steve’s character is into dudes. And he’s struck by how similar this is to their original conversation in TCB six months ago.

“Tell me who you’re working for,” Steve says, and James deflates. 

He sticks his tongue into his molars, shakes his head and sinks in on himself.

“I can’t,” he says.

Aha! Alright, here they go. Steve pushes some of the papers aside, leans forward over the table.

“You can’t?” he says, and James chews his lower lip.

He shakes his head.

“I can’t,” he says.

“We can offer you protection,” Steve answers softly, good cop and bad cop, ducking his head to get better eye-contact. James doesn’t lift his head. “A safe house, good men on patrol. We can help you but I _need_ a _name.”_

“I can’t!” James tells him. “I can’t tell you.”

Steve’s not sure where to go from here, if he’s honest. He can keep up the dialog - he’s had years of out-talking people who are trying to weave huge webs of lies - but he’s going to need to pick up on something soon, or James will need to take the initiative, maybe. Still, it doesn’t need to be right this second.

Steve gets up, turns his chair around, sits down on the edge of the table instead. Firstly, it’s closer, secondly, it makes him much taller than James, thirdly, his ass is on the table and he knows how much James likes his ass.

“You got two choices,” Steve tells him, “and neither of them are walkin’ outta here. So you better get used to that, first of all. There’s no plea bargain, no bail set. People like you don’t get freedom. So here’s how it is-” James bites back a smile because he recognizes Sam Wilson’s phrasing “- Black Island or Protective Custody. And you don’t get Protective Custody unless you give. Me. A name.”

“You don’t get it,” James says, nodding at the papers, and Steve gets up.

The character he’s playing is coming to the end of his patience.

~

“No, _you_ don’t get it,” Steve says, but his voice is low and his gaze is steady. “We can put you away somewhere so secret the President can’t shut it down ‘cause she don’t know where it _is,_ and we’ve got enough to make sure the inside of a cell there is the last thing you ever see. Solitary confinement, no outside communication. You’ll be there until you waste away. ‘Course you’ll probably lose your mind after a decade or so...”

“You can’t do this,” James says. “I have family, they’ll come looking for me.”

“Your ma, your pa, your sister, your _cat_ , forget ‘em,” and that does hurt, actually, that stings a little close. If Steve keeps going James will have to take a cry-break, Jesus. His mom. His dad. Becca. Matilda. “You might as well change your name to Jimmy Hoffa, kid, you have one shot,” he holds up a finger. “One. It is _me_. We been tryin’ to figure out who you are for a long time, and we _got_ you. If you ever want to see sunlight firsthand again, if you wanna smell fresh air and put your bare feet on the fuckin’ grass, you’ll give me a name, ‘cause my patience is wearin’ thin and you might not be a great white but I’ll take you if I can’t get the bigger fish.”

“I,” James says, shakes his head. “You.”

Steve raises both eyebrows.

James shakes his head - he wants to know how far he can push, especially because Steve can’t leave. Like, Steve has to stay ‘cause that’s the game.

Steve gets up off the table, tucks the chair in.

“Fine,” he says, but James lurches forward in his chair.

“I’ll do whatever you want,” he says.

And this, really, is where the fantasy starts. 

Steve Rogers, the man James loves, would smile coldly, and say, _“You can start by telling the truth”_ or something like that.

Agent Steve doesn’t. Agent Steve has vices.

Agent Steve says,

“See that little red light over there in the corner to my left?”

James looks. Frowns. Looks for the little red fridge magnet LED

Oh, no he…he doesn’t. Maybe the battery ran down?

“No?” he says hesitantly.

Steve doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink, but his gaze has changed completely.

“Which means no proof.”

James goes warm instantly under the weight of the promise in those eyes. And there’s something off about it too, something illicit and dangerous in a way that Steve isn’t with James. 

He _looks like_ a crooked Agent. James doesn’t know what’s different in his interest than usual, but there’s something untoward about it, and it changes his expression completely.

This is a character who knows he shouldn’t and plans to anyway, who sees a potentially-international criminal and is still willing to exchange sexual favors for a better deal. This is a man who feels sex with James would be wrong but that’s not going to stop him - where did Steve learn this? James will have to ask. 

Steve gets up, and stalks around the table, because of course he does. He stalks from his seat, all the way around the table, and then past where James can see. 

James could turn around but that’s no fun, and so he watches the reflection of Steve’s back melt into the shadows, disappearing as though he’s stepped through the fabric of reality.

James is wondering where he’s gone - because he can’t see Steve in the reflection in the window and Steve went silent as soon as he disappeared from view. 

He can see himself - pale and small behind the table, his face almost skeletal in the overhead light, but he knows Steve could be anywhere right now. In fact, when he catches movement out of the corner of his eye and looks, it’s a distant reflection of traffic in one of the other skyscraper windows outside.

“Stand,” Steve’s voice says, and his breath is warm on the back of James’ neck.

He flinches forward in surprise with a gasp and then, horrendously aware of how large a surface area his back has and how skilled an operative Steve Rogers really is, he gets up from his seat. 

The chair’s gone an instant later, and then James has no choice but to just stand there and wait. 

“Feet apart,” Steve says, from somewhere else, and James still can’t see him in the reflection of the window.

James does as he’s told, shakily, and looks up, searches the slightly distorted reflection for any sign of Steve. 

But his eyes do something funny and then - James’ mouth falls open. Steve _appears_ in the reflection, face, hands, body - he was standing _just_ beyond the threshold of a light so bright that James couldn’t see past it, and he just _materializes_ out of the shadows, a huge, looming shape, and spreads out behind James, ready to envelop him.

It happens so quickly, and James is so surprised, that his brain misfires, and he shrinks back from the image he sees in the reflection with a gasp of shock.

Straight into Steve’s embrace.

Steve has him wrapped up in an instant, arms around James’, pinning his upper arms to his sides, body pressed full-length up against his back, Steve’s head so far forward, mouth against James’ temple, that he’s almost pressing James’ head to his own shoulder.

“Nobody to stop me,” he says, teeth bared, a growl, and James’ eyes close of their own accord, “nobody to save you,” his blood rushes downward, “nobody to get in the way.”

James can’t help the moan he gives when Steve mouths a line up his throat, when Steve rolls his hips against James’ ass.

“Did I tell you to close your eyes?” he says and, when James opens them, when James looks at the window - at the mirror, for all intents and purposes - Steve’s head is down against James, his eyes dark and glittering. “Don’t you dare look at me,” he says.

And James doesn’t mean to do it - doesn’t fully understand what he’s obeying when he obeys - but he looks at himself instead, at his own slender frame enveloped by Steve’s own, his own arms bent back, his own bright white shirt and his own face tilted sideways and up as Steve attacks his throat.

“That’s what I thought,” Steve says, “enjoy that view and I won’t page my partner to come observe the interrogation.”

James blushes all the way down, he can feel it - hot from his forehead to his cock as it strains against the front of his trousers. Steve’s hands are all over him, pulling back his jacket to wrench it down his arms.

He can’t take it off because his hands are still cuffed, but it turns out that’s not an issue for Steve, who only wants it down to James’ elbows to further restrict him. James watches Steve work in the reflection, watches him kiss and touch and pull and grasp as though he’s every dirty old man that ever existed.

“Change your mind?” Steve growls. “I can change mine, too.”

James bites his lip, looks at where his teeth sink down into soft flesh where he can himself reflected. Steve’s hand travels down his torso and James can feel, with his hands behind his back, how close he is to being able to reach Steve’s dick - Steve’ hard, of course Steve’s hard.

James bites back the smile as Steve roughs him up a little, just rubs his hands over James’ body - and Steve sees him.

“Somethin’ fucking funny?” he sneers, and James laughs, bends his knees and curls his fingers against the front of Steve’s trousers.

“You’re such a top,” he chuckles.

Steve rips his shirt open - fists his hands in the fabric over James’ torso and just yanks it right open. James feels his eyes go wide, feels the smile drop off his face - the seams pop and the buttons go flying, bright sparks against the black of the room, one skitters across the table, another fucking bounces and then disappears. 

_Holy fuck._

James knows he’s making noise, and Steve sinks his teeth into the side of his neck, his hands are so _hot_ and so big on James’ body -

There’s nobody there. There’s nobody on the other side of the glass. It’s just a window, nobody can see how James is naked from his head to his navel, how his nipples are tight and thrust forward with the stretch back of his bound arms.

Steve pushes them both forward, so James’ hips are trapped against the table, so Steve's dick is right up against the seam of James’ pants with James’ fingers caught in between, and then he gets one arm across James’ chest to pin him against him. The table lurches forward with a _shiff_ of wood on carpet.

“Which one do I start with?” he says to James, teeth bared enough that James can see them flash in the mirror, he looks like James is really gonna get it, “got a preference?”

And then he pinches James’ nipple - the right one - massages when James gasps in not-quite pain and then James is swallowing down a moan because-

“Fuck,” he mutters, he could rub off against the edge of the table, that wouldn’t be so bad. 

“See that,” Steve says, “that I can do for you.”

He’s rough - biting and scratching at him, although not nearly hard enough to break skin, not even enough to bruise. James will ask him for a hickey later. 

What it does do - sharp skin and blunt nails over soft, pale skin - is set every nerve on edge, make his whole body wait for pain that isn’t going to come. He hopes. (He knows.)

Steve goes for his fly and that-

Okay, _that’s_ different, that’s a new sensation, he wants immediately to cover himself because Steve’s told him-- the Agent has told him it’s just the two of them but he’s also had a partner behind the glass, behind the mirror, so he said.

Steve’s hands _open_ his fly and suddenly he’s helpless and staring at their reflection in the mirror as the guy who’s meant to be interrogating him tries to fuck him instead.

“At least you’re cute,” James bites out. 

“That even matter?” the Agent says. “Doesn’t matter what I look like, does it? I could be gettin’ fat and goin’ bald and you’d still let me do this, wouldn’t you? Look at you.”

James does, only glances because he’s right there, splayed out behind the table, his fly open enough that he can see the root of his dick, and Steve’s hand comes up under his jaw, turns his head.

“I told you to look,” he says through gritted teeth, and James’ knees are weak, his dick his hard, and all of his skin is right fucking there.

He glances at his face and wishes he hadn’t, doesn’t want to see. The Agent’s hand is huge under his jaw, fingers thick on his cheek, and James wets his lips because he’s breathing so hard that they’re dry, but he sees his mistake a moment later - he hasn’t been looking at himself, he’s been looking at the Agent.

“I told you once,” the Agent says, and James doesn’t have much of a choice.

He sees himself flush, sees his skin darken with it, sees the stretch of his torso and the swell of his dick behind his open fly, but the Agent holds his head up, holds his head up and waits, and waits, until James looks at his nipples in the mirror, at his collarbones and the shadows behind them, at his throat, then his mouth, which is open, and his eyes-

He looks down immediately, mortified. It’s too much - his own body, his own face, as turned on as he feels right now.

“I told _you_ to _look_ ,” the Agent tells him. 

And James swallows hard, Adam’s apple pressing against Steve’s palm, as he tries to breathe, tries to think.

 _“Look,”_ the Agent says, his voice harder with ever word, and James looks at his hairline first, his ear, and then his face-

He feels like he might catch fire, like his face might actually turn so red he passes out. Lips parted, skin flushed, his eyes dark and half-closed, he’s never seen himself like this, isn’t sure how to handle it. His gaze flicks to the Agent’s in the mirror, and Steve, who’s watching over James’ shoulder from under lowered brows, arms around him, presses a kiss to the crook of James’ neck, lifts his head to bring his lips to James’ ear.

“I want you to see what I see,” Steve murmurs. “I want you to watch what I make you feel.”

James wets his lips, nods and then watches, fascinated, as Steve’s arm in the mirror curls around him, as Steve’s hand flattens against his stomach - he can see his reflection’s mouth fall open, can feel the heat of Steve’s hand on his stomach slide down as he watches the Agent in the mirror. 

And then his eyes flutter closed when Steve’s fingers wrap around his dick, pull slowly to get it out of his pants.

“Eyes open, baby,” he says, and James moans softly - Steve so rarely calls him baby - and James does it, doesn’t have a choice.

Steve’s hand around his dick, his own stomach concave, his own chest heaving, his mouth open and his eyes half-closed. Steve strokes him, slow, slow, and James’ head almost goes back before he remembers he’s meant to be looking.

“You gonna take all day?”

“I could,” the Agent says. “You’ve got nowhere to be that’s better than this.”

“You’ve only told me one place that could be worse than this, and I already told you it closed in ‘23,” James says.

Steve swipes the papers and the empty cup off the surface in front of them and slams James face-down into the table with the same movement - except he doesn’t, of course, but it’s only seconds afterward that James realizes that Steve’s not only wrapped an arm around his chest and a hand around his head to protect him, but also that none of him actually slammed anywhere - Steve pulled him away from the table and then bent him forward fast, kicked the table to make a noise, and made sure he couldn’t hit wood even if the whole thing was misjudged.

James gets the adrenalin spike though, heart racing.

And then his breath stutters in his chest - the table is _cold_ when Steve presses him down, cold on his stomach, on his chest, on his nipples, cold enough to make him gasp.

“That’s not nice of you,” the Agent says, “but we’ve had your webcam access for days, your internet history for longer. I know what you like, and this is it, isn’t it?”

He reaches down and strokes James’ dick again, and James doesn’t press his face against the table to cool down but he wants to. 

“Sittin’ at that desk all day an’ night, wastin’ all that time on those websites - you know you’re really pretty when you think there’s nobody watchin’ you,” Steve says.

“I’m pretty fucking good when somebody’s watchin’ me, too,” James answers, and Steve presses himself down over James, grinds his hips forward.

“How many somebodies?” Steve says. “Took to watchin’ you every night this week, but it doesn’t hafta be me, huh? Anybody could walk in - I could have my CO standing right there behind that mirror, you’d have no fuckin’ clue.”

James bites his lip. Steve’s not crushing him against the table because Steve’s holding himself - and James - incredibly carefully, but he’s got enough weight on James that it feels like James couldn’t get away no matter how hard he tried, he’s using enough strength that James is at his mercy. James _loves_ it.

“Who were you with the first time you saw me?” James says. “Bet I wasn’t even doin’ nothing, you were just standin’ right there with your friend lookin’ at me on my computer - you think about me straight away, huh? Lock yourself in your office and stroke one out, or you make it home? Find yourself somethin’ to fuck while you thought about me-”

Steve fingers tighten - it’s not too far off their original situation, after all - but James must have hit the nail on the head because, a second later, Steve’s weight is off him, James’ back is cold and then _all of him_ is cold - Steve yanks his pants down, James’ legs spread enough that they don’t go further than his thighs - he always does this, always plans it this way because he knows James feels so much more naked when some of him is covered so long as what’s covered isn’t what he wants to hide.

James can’t say anything, can’t think of anything to say, and there’s small sounds, foil, plastic and then Steve’s fingers are hot and wet and thick and pressing against him. 

“Fuck,” James bites out - Steve starts with one but it doesn’t matter, James is hard enough to hammer nails. 

“Yeah?” Steve says, hot where he’s in contact - the small of James’ back and almost _almost_ inside him. “Why don’t you look?”

James doesn’t want to, (except that he does) and it takes a lot for him to lift his head, takes more mental strength than he realized it would - he shivers, goosebumps sweeping down, and the back of his neck aches with the effort of his body warring with itself. It’s hard to look, it’s so hard too look, knowing what he’ll see is Steve’s dark arousal and _himself_ , knowing he’ll see his own eyes and the full weight of a gaze he often doesn’t see at this point, coupled with the knowledge that anyone else watching them would see it too.

“Sec,” he rasps, and Steve’s finger sinks into him, barely there and then all at once, and James moans, curls his head forward and presses his forehead to the table.

Steve doesn’t say anything, barely moves, and just waits, waits until James’ spine uncurls, waits until James can manage to turn his head enough, but then it’s a struggle to open his eyes.

Steve flexes his finger, starts to relax the muscle, rubs up against James from the inside while James’ cock hangs neglected between his legs, and James tries, he does, it takes him so long to manage - longer when he’s about to look and Steve just moves a little, just enough, to make his breath hitch, to make the sound he was holding back trip off his tongue.

He finds it hard to breathe, he can _feel_ eyes on him even though the only ones on him are Steve, and then Steve’s pressing a second finger into him and James tries again - if Steve’s up to two, it’s been longer than he thought.

He considers barely opening his eyes at all, looking through his lashes and ignoring himself as he tries to watch Steve, but it isn’t possible. Once his eyes are open, he sees everything - primarily, unbelievably, his own ass. From this angle, there’s his face, the pale skin of his ass, and Steve’s upper half. And Steve _stares_ at him, waits for eye-contact and then sinks two fingers in, shoulders moving he’s breathing so hard.

The James in the mirror looks in pain, his mouth opens wide, too wide, and Steve’s movements _move him._ Steve’s hand at the small of his back keeping him down like a pin in a bug in a picture frame, Steve’s other arm working slow and steady.

“Fuck,” James says, it almost hurts to look - that’s _him_ , and his brain doesn’t want to let him do it even though he wants nothing more.

Steve steps closer, leans down, so that his head is closer to James’ in the mirror, keeps his eyes on James because he can, works James harder because it’s simple enough.

“You,” James says, and he was going to ask if Steve’s ever going to fuck him but he can’t do it, can’t make himself say the words when he’ll see himself saying them.

“You never jerk off in front of a mirror?” Steve says, head lower still. “You seem like the type.”

“God,” James says, and ducks his head again.

Steve keeps going, opens him up in increments and - at one point - scrapes his teeth over any of James he can reach - the back of his neck, the backs of his shoulders, his spine, the small of his back.

“I’d ask if you want me in you but I already know the answer,” Steve says, withdrawing his fingers to pull James’ hole wider with his thumb on James’ perineum. “Shame I can’t show you what that looks like.”

“Surprised you think you can last long enough to put on a show,” James says, and Steve gets up.

James sure as hell watches then, watches Steve get his own dick out of his pants.

“Condom?” he says without looking, spine straight, eyes dark, fingers around his dick.

“Not on your life,” James answers, so Steve slicks himself up and plants one hand on the table next to James’ hip as he lines himself up behind him.

“Breathe,” he says. “Wouldn’t want you to pass out before we even get this started, now, would we? That wouldn’t be much fun for anyone involved.”

The implication is clear - that others may be watching, that others have seen him before - and James watches Steve as Steve lifts his head and looks at him in the mirror. Steve’s expression does not change at all, which is why it’s so intense when he pushes forward.

James sees himself because he can’t help but see, because Steve’s face is directly above his own and James has eyes - he looks like every twink he’s ever seen in every porno he’s ever watched, flushed and long-lashed and pale and slender and young. He’s making _that face_ and Steve very much is not, and he couldn’t feel more like this is being done _to_ him.

“Uhhn,” he hears himself whine, sees the James in the mirror do it too, and Steve, the Steve who stares at him with a face half-shadowed, doesn’t flinch, doesn’t move, doesn’t change.

Not that James can see, anyhow. And James certainly feels it when Steve starts to move. Steve doesn’t wait although he doesn’t go crazy, starts to move and doesn’t stop, and James’ fingers curl up against Steve’s stomach, his legs shake with the pleasure of it. He turns his head away because looking is too difficult.

But Steve’s over him, inside of him, and Steve’s head is right over his own. So, when James turns his head away, Steve presses his mouth to James’ ear.

“What’s the matter, sweetheart?” he says, voice punctuated by his thrusts, oh wow, “don’t like what you see?”

“Not much to look at, is there?” he snipes, and Steve puts a hand on top of his head - he’s not holding James’ head down onto the table, not really, but only because it’s really Steve and not Agent Dickhead. 

“I wouldn’t say that,” Steve bites out.

“Did you think about me?” James says, the breath punched out of him. “First time you saw me, I bet you _begged_ your computer buddy to let you have the password just so you could-”

 _“Everybody’s_ got the password,” Steve answers, jolting them both with the word, mouth so close James can feel his _teeth_ on the shell of his ear. “We put it up on the intranet homepage, _sweetheart_ , the notice board, the cafeteria screen - your feed’s a party every night, _everybody_ gets to see.”

James’ face stings he’s blushing so hard. Steve’s got a lot of friends, a lot of colleagues, and James wouldn’t want any of them seeing him - not a single one of them. But the idea of them seeing, the implication that any number of people have been watching him, that he’s been touching himself as though nobody’s watching when _everyone’s_ been watching...

He thinks about it, can’t help it. The last time he jerked off alone, at his laptop, lights off with a porn site up, thinks about the faces he made, the way he lay, the little things he whispered to himself in the dark and what it would be like if someone else had seen, if so many people had been watching.

He makes a little noise that he can’t keep back.

“And you make sure nobody else gets to fuck me,” he says, and Steve laughs, low and rich.

“You’re all for me,” he says. “You’re _mine_. Most anyone else gets is to be jealous of me.”

“You picked me, huh?” James says, and Steve scoffs.

“I was assigned to you,” he says. “We put names in a hat for you like a fucking prize and _every single person’s_ pissed that I got it.”

James is going to spontaneously combust. 

“You think everybody else is pissed at you,” he says, “you wait’l my boyfriend finds out where we are.”

Steve stops his thrusts, stands up straight, gets his arms around James’ waist and pulls him up, too, hauls him backward so his full weight’s against Steve, and he drops one shoulder so James’ head falls back against it, sweeps one hand down James’ body from his collar bones all the way down to his dick and starts stroking softly, slower than James is expecting.

“Mmmh, sweetheart,” Steve says, nuzzling the skin of James’ throat, pressing his mouth to the soft skin behind James’ ear, “who d’you think’s on the other side’a that glass?”

James’ knees go weak - literally, Steve has to tighten his grip - and he says,

“Ha-ah,” accidentally, like he’s cold or in pain - it hits him right in the center of his chest, blossoms outwards. 

His nipples tighten, he can feel them do it, his cock throbs, and his head is down but he can’t help but look at the glass now. He doesn’t see Agent Steve, he doesn’t even see himself, although he registers his own figure - slim and pale, shadows painting the undersides of his ribs, the curve of his lower stomach, cock jutting out into the light with thick fingers wrapped around it that are not his own - he’s seeing something else now.

“Aw, poor baby,” Steve says, low, barely a whisper, slowing right down so they’re barely moving. “Did you think he’d come to your rescue?”

James is barely seeing either of them because now, now he’s seeing through the mirror and straight into the image that’s been put in his head. 

The other side of the mirror is an observation room now where the other side of the glass has been New York the whole time, the other side of the mirror is small and dark instead of vast and sparkling, and James isn’t staring at his reflection any longer. He doesn’t need to see with his eyes to picture Steve standing there in front of them on the other side, head up, shoulders back, disinterest on the most gorgeous face James has ever seen.

“You’re lying,” James says, but the muscles in his thighs are tight and the blood sings in his veins, nerves alight with it.

“Am I?” Steve says - the Agent says. “You think a man like that approves of the things you do?”

James is going to come - Agent Steve’s moving his hand just slightly, standing still inside of James, but it’ll be enough for sure.

“You’re,” James says, but his lungs don’t want to stop breathing in and his bones feel like they’re shaking. “Ka-huh?” he says, but Steve gets it anyway, kisses him softly.

He stops everything for a moment, actually, James sees his expression clear a moment before they kiss, and he moans into Steve’s mouth, his whole body trying to melt to the floor.

“Charlie?” Steve murmurs against his lips.

“Charlie,” James says, and it’s absurd but his eyes prickle?

He’s not sad or angry or upset just…like…it’s so much. Steve’s here with him, Steve’s right there inside him but His Steve doesn’t belong where this man is, not in this game. His Steve is standing on the other side of the mirror, one eyebrow raised, probably talking to someone else, another colleague, probably talking about statistics, numbers, arrest records, while James is spread out in a spotlight, over an interrogation table with his last hope balls-deep in his ass.

Everything he kept back for Steve is laid out now, everything hidden from everyone is stripped bare and presented. His eyes prickle and his lips tingle and his hips snap forward of their own accord, the A/C is so cold over his skin, the Agent's hands are like brands on him, and-

“Think he likes to watch?” the Agent says and-

James comes, just like that. 

He grits out a cry through his clenched teeth, and squeezes his eyes shut as he shakes his head, hips juddering forward without coming back again.

He hears Steve say,

“Whoa!” very quietly, and then Steve’s tightening his fingers and jacking him off proper, James hands curl into fists and accidentally grab some of the fabric of Steve’s shirt.

“Fuck, _fuck_ ,” he says, head back against Steve’s shoulder ‘cause his whole body’s trying to go hips-first through Steve’s closed fist, and then he just kind of can’t do anything about it, just stands there and shakes while orgasm takes over for a little while. 

It lasts, boy does it last, and then he’s making this weird keening noise as he starts to come down.

His right eye feels weird because his lashes there are damp.

“I love you,” Steve’s saying, “it’s okay, James, I’ve got you,” and James feels so weird, it’s so strange - he wants more of this; his eyes are stinging and his lashes are damp and he can feel his lip wobble and his chin crunch up but he wants more.

“I,” he says, and Steve says,

“Lights out, Jarvis,” and then they’re in darkness - _curtain’s falling_ \- and the game’s over and James hangs his head while he presses his tongue to his lip and tries to breathe. “Talk to me, James,” Steve says, “you with me?”

“Yeah,” James says, but it sounds like half a sob, and Steve’s hand moves, releases the catch on the cuffs.

“James,” he says, “I’m-”

“Nono,” James tells him, preempts him before he can get the wrong idea. “No, it’s good, I promise. I’m not…it’s just a lot.”

“You need me out?” he says. “I can-”

“I want to turn around,” James says. “I want to be face to face.”

Steve pauses, unsure, but James does it for him, moves forward as his hands come free and turns around once Steve’s pulled out of him.

“James,” Steve says, and James wraps his arms around Steve’s neck and kisses him.

“Perfect,” he says, “ ‘s perfect, God, I-”

Steve’s hands settle, big and warm, against his back, arms around him, and James pulls his legs in so his trousers can fall and he can step out of them, takes a step back so he can get up on the table.

“Are you-” Steve says, and James pulls him down, one arm still around his neck, spreads his legs as he pulls Steve forward.

“You were _perfect,_ ” James murmurs, and the changes are as large in James’ mind as the differences were - Steve holds him like he loves him, gentle hands and careful grip, kisses him like he wants to pour himself into James instead of like he wants to tear something out of him, leans down after James to follow him instead of pinning him down to stop him getting away.

James’ skin feels like it knows too much, his eyes are still seeing the purple yellow afterimage and Steve’s voice but Steve’s face but the _Other Steve_ \- overwhelmed, that’s what it is. James is overwhelmed. 

And it can’t be that the dark is cooler, can’t be that the tower’s technology meant the light was warmer, but it doesn’t have to be the light. The shadows are colder because there are no eyes on him - even though they were his own and Steve’s.

“Now,” James says, “please now - I want you,” and Steve does, Steve always does, Steve always gives him exactly what he asks for. 

When Steve comes, it’s with James’ hands in his hair, James’ legs around his waist, and James’ name on his lips and, after, he stands there while James lies there, bodies pressed together. James cradles Steve’s head against his shoulder and tips his head back to look at New York city sparkling bright, oblivious, outside.

~

When they’ve both recovered a little, because Steve sees just as well in the dark as he does in the light, he gathers James up and takes him to the bedroom, arranges the quilts and pillows around him while James sits in the middle.

He cleans James up as always, gets him something to eat, something to drink, fetches the faux-fur blanket. 

“Okay?” Steve says, and James laughs, covers his face with both hands.

“Yeah! Oh my god, yeah. Next time you can do whatever you were planning next,” James says “I didn’t even finish the whole blackmail thing.”

“Ahh, blackmail,” Steve says as he checks James over, makes sure there’s no bruising, makes sure James was telling the truth about how much he enjoyed it.

He was, but Steve always makes sure.

“I was gonna hold your head up and make you watch you come,” Steve says, and James has to bite his lip at that. 

He already has most of the visual, and his whole everything likes that conclusion a lot.

“Are _you_ okay?” he says, and Steve looks at him, beams at him.

“I am if you are,” he says. 

“I am,” James grins. “Where’d you learn to act like that?”

“Life?” Steve says. “Lying to bad guys, training for interrogation. Natasha.”

James nods as he looks Steve up and down. Then he thinks of something.

“Is there surveillance here?” he says.

“No,” Steve answers. “Jarvis has a map of the room for projection mapping, and he can read pressure points and heat signatures to know where we’re standing, or where we are in general. The program reads faces and can read gestures in the event of an emergency, but the system doesn’t listen in. He’ll hear if I ask him for something by name, and stops listening once the system recognizes that I’m no longer addressing him, but audio and video aren’t available except in emergency. And it’s run by Tony, so I trust it. If it weren’t, I wouldn’t set foot in this place.”

James nods.

“Just checking,” he says. “Your conversion won’t have any.”

“No. I sweep for bugs when I clean,” he answers, “and I clean on weekends.”

James nods again, and Steve gets his legs up on the bed.

“You know, you stopped,” James says, and Steve looks at him.

“Hm?”

“You stopped at one point,” James says. “You were telling me I can’t lie like I think I flirt.”

“Oh,” Steve says. “Yeah, I realized I was pulling the interrogation routine without the letting-you-seduce-me part. Like, I was gonna sit there until you confessed. You know?”

James laughs.

“You’d’ve been waitin’ a while, I still don’t really know what I’m meant to have done.”

Steve winces. 

“Yeah, I forgot to brush up on my computer lingo. Wasn’t too bad, though, right?”

“It was fucking amazing,” James says. “I mean it. We oughta fuck in front of a mirror some more.”

“Sure!” Steve says.

“With you in front?”

Steve says,

“Ahhh,” like the Fonz says ‘eyyy’ and then shoves James over into the cushions.

James re-situates himself in them and stretches out once he’s done laughing.

Then he squints at the ceiling.

“So how’d you do all that?” James asks, and Steve rolls one shoulder in a shrug.

“Car was my closet and directional speakers. You were in my office chair. From my actual office.”

“You put directional speakers in the closet?” James says.

“This is Stark Tower,” Steve answers, “the closet already has directional speakers. Plus directional air-con, because the Tower can do that.”

“And the elevator?” James asks.

Steve pauses for a moment. Then he heaves himself onto his feet and towers over James again, holds out a hand.

James takes it, cautiously, goes when Steve helps him stand, and then Steve pulls James forward, lifts him because lifting James is incredibly easy for him, and puts James over his shoulder again. 

“Ready?” he says, and James nods.

“Ahuh,” he says. 

And Steve…

Steve bends his knees sharply, and holds himself like that, a couple inches shorter. After a couple of seconds, he stands up straight again, equally as sharply.

“Magic,” he says.

James laughs.

“Are you serious?” he says, and Steve’s hand comes up against his ass.

“You never left the place. We just walked around for a while.”

James snorts. 

“How come _I_ can’t do cool shit like that?” he says, and Steve leans forward, helps James regain his feet.

“You could,” he says. “But I mean. I never have until now, not really.”

James smiles, wrinkles his nose up and slings his arms around Steve’s waist.

“That’s sweet,” he says. “Once I figure out a fantasy for you, I’ll make it as cinematic as I can.”

Steve laughs, kisses him, and then points at the bed. James nods and gets back on it, getting comfy, and Steve follows him once he’s happy with where he is.

Of course, James already _has_ one. One that doesn’t need special effects, as nice as special effects might be. But if he told Steve what he’s planning, it wouldn’t be a surprise. 

“Hey, where’s Black Island?”

“I panicked,” Steve said, “that’s the best name I could come up with. I was aiming for dark and remote and I nearly said ‘Black Eye’ on muscle memory by mistake. Second choice would have been Coal Peninsula or somethin’.”

James snorts, and settles his head on Steve’s chest when Steve reels him in, closes his eyes when Steve pulls up the blanket. 

He’s got work in the morning, but they’ve got hours and hours until then.

**Author's Note:**

> If you have anything you'd like to ask about this fic, or any of my other fics, please feel free to come and ask me on tumblr - my username's the same there - and I'll be happy to chat! If you’d like rare updates, I’m @justanononline on twitter these days. @ me to get my attention.
> 
> Here is [a link to a timeline](https://66.media.tumblr.com/aac4be76b217f7b6ea54592e0a76d168/tumblr_inline_pg5mcewTA21rckout_500.png) if you'd like to know the dates of the occurrences in this fic up to part 10, and here is a [a link to the next part of the timeline](https://66.media.tumblr.com/5f3c9fff19fe97660662611079013dad/tumblr_ps0mw599GT1s2056to1_500.png) from part 11 to 21.


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